Sin (Wattys Winner)

Chapter 05

Heads and tails.

Flip and catch.

"So?" I said.

Joy frowned, puzzled. I could see why. My reaction, or lack of one, would puzzle me too, if I wasn't me. In fact, it did to a certain extent. Why wasn't I breaking apart, little bits of me drifting off into the Nothing that waited in the shadows to engulf me? Why was I just hey-diddly-dee-a-normal-life-for-me?

"So?" she asked. "What does 'so' mean? Is that all you can say? 'So'?"

"Yes," I answered. "So. So what if I am responsible. So what if I'm not. It's done."

I realised, suddenly, what was wrong. I knew why I was numb. The same sweet self-preservation that stopped me knock, knock, knocking on a furnace door. It was too much. All of it, and if I let myself feel that, I'd be dragged down Life's little plug hole into the sewers below.

"I can't take it," I said. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I just... I just can't do it."

Joy put her arms around me. She smelled of Jasmine. Her cheek was warm and soft against my own. Were my dreams torturing me now? All these memories of my dead sister pummelling me, taunting me. It wasn't FAIR! I felt like a yo-yo, spinning between laughter and sorrow, smiles and frowns, mental clarity and mind-numbing despair, my string wrapped around the finger of some demonic child who was having simply marvellous fun at my expense.

I pushed Joy away and stood up. This was a lovely dream, what with the ghost, maggots and rotting flesh, but it was only serving to make me feel worse about myself than I already did. Joy's reassurances did more to wind me up than calm me down. I knew she wasn't being patronising, she wasn't like that. Well, my sister wasn't like that when she was alive. This deceased version was an invention of my own psyche, so I supposed it could be as patronising as my mind felt it wanted to be.

I was going round in circles. I should have stayed, happy as a hamster with my very own wheel, in the mental home. Dr. Connors would look after my bank account and me, and everything would have been hunky-dory, Jackanory. Yes. Of course it would.

I feebly tried to push Joy away again as she moved towards me, arms wide. She batted my attempts away and wrapped me in her Jasmine blanket. I let my breathing settle and slumped against her. She held my weight easily, obviously empowered by my subconscious - she could never have carried me in reality.

Her voice smothered me in velvet calm, easing my anguish. "Sshhhh," she whispered, though I hadn't said anything.

I took a deep breath, my face buried in her shoulder. A second one succeeded in steadying me enough to support myself. She let her arms drop and looked at me, her face full of concern.

I smiled weakly, then took a third deep breath and smiled again, stronger this time.

"Fartypants," I said.

"That's better," she said, the concern fading. A hint of it lingered still, but she looked more her usual perky self. I hoped I appeared the same. I hoped that, if I looked happier then I would be. If I seemed more confident, that confidence might worm its wicked way inside. "Plonk it, rancid pits," she ordered, indicating the base of the tree I'd been sitting at.

"Yes, Miss."

I eased myself back down onto the grass and leant against the trunk. My back protested as the lumps and bumps of the bark found more places to dig into but I ignored it. I wasn't into self-mutilation or any of those whipping rituals religious types indulged in, but I did feel that a taste of pain myself was somewhat deserved.